On August 6, of 1945,
by TacoDao
Summary: At 8:15 AM, the nuclear weapon Little Boy was dropped on Hiroshima by the crew of the American B-29 bomber Enola Gay. Not soon after, Nagaski was also bombed. Human names used.


It's such a nice day outside. The birds are chirping happily and the sun is beaming brightly. On the outside nothing looked wrong- a lot of things do that. Like how America would tell his people that everything was fine and dandy and that at the moment they had no enemies. That everyone was friends and there were no dreaded sicknesses spreading. How world peace was just inches from their grasps' and people can be as carefree as ever.

Lies.

All lies.

After the atomic bombing of his precious cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, Kiku's body took a bone-rattling turn for the worst. His legs are in horrible conditions- the burns will leave ugly scars. The Asian man grimaces at the thought of how horrible the wounds would look. His people and him all mourned for the loss of over two-hundred _thousand _deaths. Nearly all civilians. Poor little Toyama, it was practically fully destroyed. Not only did the nuclear bombing make it hard for little Kiku to move his legs but to _breathe. _The doctors were afraid he would choke on air if he wasn't careful. China even suggested to put the Japanese man on some sort of thing called air support. Whatever it was all Kiku knew was it was for the weak. Japan may be small but he can pull through this. Even if Russia was already making plans to invade his vital regions any time now. This is all Alfred's fault. All Alfred's fault that he has to be in here- he lost to him. And, this was the affect.

Kiku hisses loadly as he moves onto his side. He can already feel his opposite flank becoming numb. There was a basket of oranges on his stand waiting to be eaten. With a pained groan, he reaches for the bundle of fruit. He sees a card, wekly he reaches it and reads the paper: _'Get well soon. I'm sorry. -Alfred F. Jones'_. The Asian growls at the name. With even more excruciating pain from putting weight on his leg, he dumps the innocent basket in the trashcan. He looks up hatefully from the small bucket and saw a beautifully coloured vase with about seven lillies placed carefully inside. He uses his last bit of energy to grasp the vase and stare at it before dumping the content carelessly into the trash along with the oranges. Both items sit sadly inside of the waste-basket to be ignored and forgotten.

Three sorrow-and-hate-filled days came and passed. Alfred came on the mid-day of the third. A bouquet of white roses in hand. He pops into Kiku's lone hospital, his eyes both beamed and lost their touch when they lay themselves upon Kiku's broken figure. He draws on himself a fake smile and walks into the room. His being barely brightening the mood. He came next to the other's hospital bed- it pains him being to close to the wounded boy. Kiku looks up to him with a bored expression, Alfred -though invisible to most- can see the hate in his calm eyes, "Hiya, Kiku!" He starts off, not really going anywhere. He continues with a bit less enthusiasm, "How are ya' feeling? Do you feel any better? Did you like the oranges? Were they tasty?"

Kiku didn't immediately answer him. He merely stared at him quietly, sadistic and vile thoughts ran through his not-so-innocent mind. Alfred stirs uncomfortable by the ever so spiteful stare. His eyes avert to the waste-basket and his heart drops down to his feet. He saw the presents he previously gave his ex-friend. The goods that occupy the bucket had already begun to wilt and grow bitter. Just like Kiku and his' relationships. How ironic.

He sadly took the vase he worked so hard on out of the trash. It took him seven unruly days with Russia and his teaching to make it look nice. He placed the bundle of roses into the vase and placed them silently on the nightstand. Alfred pipes up with a sad tone, "Kiku, I'm sorry if you son't like oranges," He looks to the other who presently had his back turned to the other. This didn't make the pitying American feel the least bit better about himself. He asked the opposite, "Do you want me to bring some other kind of fruit? Maybe apples or pears or grapes?" The hope in his voice rose as Kiku turned toward him.

"I don't _need_ or _want _any of those fruits." His voice lowered to unimaginable depth, "I don't need anything... from you." The last part was rushed and silent. Nevertheless, the remark manages to reach the American and echo tauntingly in Alfred's ear. He bored his ocean blue eyes into Kiku's face. The youth expression does not change in the least.

"I'm sorry, it-... it looks like you just need to rest," He somehow kept his composure as he leisurely stood by the door that led to the hospital's hallway, "I'll try to come again tomorrow. Have a nice d-day." He curses himself mentally for cracking at the end of his sentence. He walked into the eerie white hallway that lingered outside of Kiku's room.

The scarred boy that lay in the bed silently grabbed the vase once more. On the outside, Alfred could hear the sound of water against metal and the faintest sound of sobbing. He sighs heavily and with a heavy heart he whispers, more to himself then to the other nation:

"Do you really hate me so much, Kiku?"

* * *

Another one by Pu-up. 'Cause I think she has wondeous ideas for stories.  
She just needs a little more practice on her English.  
Good luck, friend!  
Btw, I made a new friend yesterday.  
He helped me find my sock. And, I helped him find the sun :)

Done while listening to: 'Planet Zero' by Chris Ballew  
( I sorta' wanted to write CanadaxCrack instead of this at the moment. Oh well. )


End file.
